


Blood

by Zoya113



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Blood, F/M, Violence, alcohol tw, hurt and recovery, spoilers but stabbing tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 20:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya113/pseuds/Zoya113
Summary: Emma gets into an accident with a stranger





	Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Finally caved and wrote something violent for the theme the prompt was just deadass stabbing this time so here’s ur drama enjoy ((I’ll orobably upload a second part I think if another prompt calls for it I wanted to elaborate but I have so many exams hahdhfh

Emma’s heavy eyes stared dully at her phone, scrolling absently through the news. 

She yawned, risking a glance at the clock. 

3:46am

They had probably had a little bit too much fun on their date night out, a lot of driving and not much fuel left. So now she was stuck at the petrol station while Paul payed for gas. 

She looked up at the neon lights of the service station, recoiling as they burnt her eyes. He was just finishing up with the register now. 

Emma shook out a cramp in her leg before slipping out of the passenger seat. She was tired, but it had been a long drive and she couldn’t go much longer without a break. 

She tossed her phone down on the seat and closed the car door, breathing in the cold and dirty petrol station air. Her nose scrunched up at the harsh smells, she preferred mountain air. 

Petrol was only an in-out sort of routine, Paul wouldn’t be much longer. She would only do a lap of the building to get the pain out of her leg. 

“God that’s fucking cold.” She shivered, slipping her hands into her empty pockets and picking up her pace. 

When her leg hurt, it hurt bad. It was a dull, throbbing pain inside the bone that spread down her leg and clawed at her joints. 

She wanted to be in bed already, she had work in the morning so she would definitely play the price. 

She rounded the corner of the building, deciding to take weight off her leg instead because the walking wasn’t helping her as much as she thought. “Aw come on,” she danced her fingers over the scar on her thigh and winced. “You’re giving me shit, buddy,” she growled at her leg, heaving a sigh and deciding to move on. 

When she looked up however, she could see a black shape in the darkness, the silhouette of the head moving ever so slightly, giving away their position among the darkness. 

“Oh! Sorry man,” she chuckled, playing off the way she spoke to herself and hurrying on, assuming he was only an employee taking out the bins. 

She lowered her head, breaking into a little jog when the person didn’t reply. Something was off, and she didn’t think it was an employee anymore.

Her skin prickled as she passed by the figure, as she felt incredibly vulnerable.   
She could smell alcohol coming off him and it only made her want to move faster.  
She could feel their eyes following her as she walked and she turned around to face them and gave him an awkward laugh. 

She stared into the darkness to make sure there was in fact actually a person hiding there. 

“Hey, sorry man.” She gave a small wave as they locked eyes but turned around just as quick. 

“Hey,” the voice spoke up. 

The voice was deep and rancorous. It sounded similar to the voice belonging to the homeless man near Beanies. Paul had once told her that he himself had admitted to ‘wanting to kill them all while high on bath-salt zombie drugs’ and Emma had never felt comfortable walking by him after work ever since. But it was too dark, she couldn’t tell if it was him for sure. 

She hoped if she continued walking she could play it off as if she didn’t hear him. Maybe, if she was especially lucky, he was so drunk or high that his object permanence would be right out the window and he would forget about her the moment she turned the corner. 

But she could hear his heavy footsteps on the ground and tried to steady her breathing. 

Realistically, this man didn’t pose a threat to her. She didn’t have anything valuable on her, and she could swing a pretty good punch too. If worse came to worst, she always kept a pocket knife on her when going out.

She glanced over her shoulder and in the neon light shedded from the shop front she could see he was tall and bulky. She could smell the alcohol on his heavy breath from where she stood.

“Hey man, you’re getting a little close there,” she warned, picking up her pace. “Can I help you with anything? D’you want money or something?” Her hands fell to the pocket knife in her side pocket. 

The man huffed, his hands slipping into his pockets. 

“Okay man, fuck it.” She couldn’t stand being near him. The smell of his breath was too much, it reeked of cheap booze and made her feel like she had to cover her head. 

“Hey,” the man grunted, twitching.

Before Emma could do anything he took a wide stride towards her, grabbed her shoulder and made a rapid, sharp movement. 

Suddenly she could no longer stand. She collapsed to the cold, damp ground as a burning sensation tore its way through her body.

She clutched at her chest, her shirt was damp and sticky. 

A hot sweat covered her skin and the severity of the burning feeling was the only thing stopping her from blacking out from pain. 

Strangely, no scream escaped her lips. She wrenched her eyes shut. Her breaths were heavy and shallow and she couldn’t tell if the man was still there or not. 

There was a comfort and a fear to the way her body crumpled to the floor as it had. It reminded her so much of the helicopter accident, but she was fairly sure this didn’t hurt as much as that.

She only had to hope the man had already moved on. 

An intense pain ravaged her almost immediately, and she realised too late what had happened. 

Stabbed, she thought. She didn’t know why. She was too busy actively trying not to bleed out to reason with anything.

There was a scuffle of footsteps and the man leant over on her other side. He felt his hands up her waist and her thighs, looking for her pockets. 

She shifted her weight onto her side as he reached for her back pocket, trying to secure her pocket knife when she felt herself being pulled up again.

It nauseated her whole body and for a moment she blacked out from the feeling. 

The man slammed her against the wall, cursing. “Bitch!” 

She could feel her blood dribble down her chest onto her pants. 

He had a firm grip on her shoulder until she was sure it would bruise. He shoved her hard up against the bricks, patting her down for anything she might have on her person. 

She knew he would find nothing. She had even left her phone in the car. 

She could smell beer and whiskey all over him, the smell was terrifying, and a massive shock to her system. She didn’t know what to do next, not that she could move at all. 

But with her feet back on the ground the hard work was done for her. Her hands, already hanging by her side pulled out her pocket knife and with the energy she had left she bared her teeth through the pain and raised it up. 

The man must’ve been too drunk to be surprised and reached for the knife, but she dropped one arm to his shoulder for her own balance before driving her knee up into his gut. 

The man dropped what he had been holding, she never saw it in the darkness but it was easy to infer it was a knife.

The man let out a yelp of pain but her hearing had left her quite long ago, and only a static, blurry noise could was in her ears. 

Then she brought down her pocket knife on the man’s shoulder. She didn’t even comprehend that she was stabbing someone herself. The knife plunged in satisfyingly, and by then she was too drowsy to note much else. 

The man took off with a howl, vanishing back into the darkness.

Emma clasped one hand across her wound, feeling how bloody her shirt had become. 

She wanted to sit down. All she wanted was to lay down and close her eyes and take a quick break but she wasn’t an idiot. If she gave in for even a second now it was game over. She couldn’t risk closing her eyes. 

She took in a quick appraisal as she moved to limp back to the car, her shoulder leaning against the wall to support herself. She didn’t think she had been stabbed in the stomach which was good, but everything hurt and she couldn’t tell where the pain was coming from. 

Her breathing was thin and shaky, and she let the cold of the night seep into her burning skin. 

Agonisingly slow step by agonisingly painful step, she made it to the end of the building, leaving an awful trail of blood in her wake. 

She saw Paul by the car, scanning the car park anxiously to locate her.

His eyes locked onto her pale countenance and he let out a breath of relief. “Oh! There you are, I thought I heard someone scream out here and-...” he trailed off as he looked down at the scarlet blood seeping through her plain, white shirt and the last thing she remembered were his eyes going wide and all the colour leaving his face before she finally collapsed. 

———————————————————

She woke up in a hospital room.  
God. She hated hospitals, avoided them like the plague.

She wasn’t sure what her eyes were focusing on but she let them adjust patiently. 

“Fuck,” she cursed at the realisation of what had happened.

“Awake I see?” A doctor or a nurse spoke up somewhere in the room. 

She didn’t hear anything else he said. The man had a deep voice and was passing on information to someone else in the room. 

“Shit,” she cursed again when the pain set in. 

“Oh! Em!” That was Paul’s voice she was fairly sure. She would recognise it anywhere, but her brain wasn’t cooperation with her senses. 

“Babe nah, my transduction’s fucked,” she blurted out, the words slurred and so lazy they almost sounded accented. 

“Your what?” 

She was surprised to hear a second voice in the room, much deeper than Paul’s, the professor’s. 

“I’m glad to know you still have your wits about you, my dear.” His voice was exhausted and worried, but so relieved.

She didn’t want to turn her head. She hated hospitals and all the tubes and wires and needles. She didn’t want to see if there was anything remotely hospital-y attached to her so she refused to acknowledge them visually. 

“I’m so fucked,” she groaned. “I feel like shit and I dunno what happened.” She wanted to clench her fist but she was worried any movement would bring about more pain. 

“You sound tired,” Paul frowned. Very slowly, things were coming back to her, and she could tell he was sitting somewhere right besides her bed. 

“D’you know I hate the hospital?” She asked them both. 

“Em, are you okay?” Paul asked. 

“Uhh, I guess I am.” She rolled her eyes to the side and she could just see him, standing up now so she wouldn’t have to turn. She smiled at the sight of his face and he smiled back for her sake. “What day is it?”

“No, but like, what happened?” He tried again.

She could see Hidgens standing at the end of her bed now and blinked her eyes lazily at him to say hello. 

“Oh.” She thought about it. “I stabbed a man while you were in the 7/11.”

“You what!?” Paul and Hidgens exclaimed in almost perfect unison. 

“Oh, well he stabbed me first.” 

“He what!?” Again, with exact timing. Much angrier than before. 

“Oh it’s not a big deal.” She breathed in the sterile hospital smell and tried not to gag. “I was stretching my leg and I think it was a homeless guy, or some sort of, I dunno.” She collected her breath before continuing. “Whoever he was, let me tell you,” she finally moved, habitually making a hand gesture to accompany her words. “Fuckin’ drunk and high as all living shit.”   
She flinched. There was definitely a drip in her arm. “He was looking for money. I think. Good thing I’m fuckin’ broke man, haha, hell yeah.” 

“Don’t laugh at your own jokes dear. I don’t think you should be speaking at all. You’re only a couple hours out of surgery. I think you think they’re a lot funnier than they are, but we’re a bit too worried for jokes right now, my dear child.” 

“Hey, for starters I’m hilarious. And secondly, they already put me under?” She grimaced. “Oh well. I guess I’m glad I don’t have to think about it. What happened?”

Paul shook his head, blinking his wide eyes at the memory. “I have never been so scared in my life. There was so much blood, Em. I barely remember it myself and I wasn’t the one who got stabbed! You got operated on pretty quickly once we got here. It was pretty shallow and it missed anything vital.”

“So I guess I don’t have to go to work, right?” She chuckled.

Paul snorted and Hidgens covered his face. “You aren’t allowed to move for a week or two.” 

“You’re on a lot of drugs right now dear. I think it’s better you try and sleep. Laughing isn’t going to help your stitches.” He stood by her bed, examining a chart of some sort of equipment. “Let me tell you. There are a lot of phone calls you don’t want to get at five in the morning.” 

Emma gave a small, slow nod as if she had been thinking carefully about this. “I take it I missed my shift already then?” 

“By a long shot, Em.” Paul glanced at her hand and she let out a panicked noise. 

“Oh! No, no touching. You have no idea how much I wanna hug you but I’m trying very hard not to know how many things I’m hooked up to.” She wrenched her eyes shut. “How many though? Am I on dialysis?” 

“Now why would you be on dialysis, sweetheart?” Hidgens raised an eyebrow. 

“Dunno. That’s just a big hospital word,” she answered sheepishly. 

Paul drew a thumb across her forehead to wipe her hair from her face. “Well you aren’t looking too bad. Better, I can guess, than after the hospital accident.”

“Guess what,” she told them both, very aware of the pain killers in her system now. “Guess, guess,” she repeated, quieter but firmer, before even giving them a chance to answer. 

“Yes?” Hidgens asked.

“what’s up?” Paul added. 

Getting too tired to keep up her voice, she gave a little grin before adjusting hesitantly to a comfier position, barely able to keep awake. “I’m gonna have the coolest scar once this is over.”


End file.
